


Tonight Is For You

by hpdm4ever, MessiFangirl (hpdm4ever)



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Argentina, Argentina National Team, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, FIFA World Cup 2018, Fluff, Iceland National Team, Kissing, M/M, Translation into Chinese available, kunessi - Freeform, teammates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-25 18:28:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14983028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpdm4ever/pseuds/hpdm4ever, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpdm4ever/pseuds/MessiFangirl
Summary: Nobody approaches him, perhaps aware that he's fighting to maintain his composure. The Icelandic players are respectful enough that they give him his space, while the Argentine players are wise enough to know that he needs it.There's a light touch against his bare back then, right against his waistband, and Leo lowers his shirt to glare.Now translated into Chinese:Captain_17onAO3&Lofter.com.





	Tonight Is For You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LeoDios](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeoDios/gifts), [stillgold](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stillgold/gifts), [yulin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yulin/gifts).
  * Translation into 中文 available: [今晚属于你](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17946662) by [Captain_17](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_17/pseuds/Captain_17)



> A break from OITNB for some World Cup kunessi :)  
> Inspired by the LeoDios and the picture below.

 

Leo picks a spot near midfield. There’s nothing special about it. It’s just as good as any other part of the pitch. But that’s the spot he picks. And he stands there for a long time.

His legs are aching, right thigh feeling especially tight where one of the Icelandic defenders had kneed him earlier in the game. It doesn't feel too serious--nothing that will keep him from training, at least. But it still hurts. He'll have to ice it good, maybe get the masseuse to work him over after showering, otherwise, it'll be worse in a few hours. His left ankle is sore too, but he can't remember when he might have rolled it. Then there are the numerous bruises probably coming to life all over his calves and feet.

It's easy to focus on his body now. To catalog the hurts and figure out how to sooth them. To think about ice baths and athletic tape and white bandages. To forget everything else.

Yes, that is easy.

Easier than focusing on the fucking game.

An intense wave of shame washes over him as he remembers the penalty, and he raises his shirt to wipe his face. He's already flushed from the exertion, but with his embarrassment--that vivid heat creeping over his skin--his color isn't going to fade anytime soon. Still, he presses the black shirt to his forehead, drawing it over the bridge of his nose and over his cheeks to his mouth. It doesn't make him feel any better, but it gives him a chance to hide any sign of his distress. His mask slides back into place, mouth straightening into a line, brow relaxing and eyes hardening.

Nobody approaches him, perhaps aware that he's fighting to maintain his composure. The Icelandic players are respectful enough that they give him his space, while the Argentine players are wise enough to know that he needs it.

There's a light touch against his bare back then, right against his waistband, and Leo lowers his shirt to glare.

Kun looks back at him calmly, hand still at the small of Leo's back. Of course, it’s him. He’s the only one brave enough to go to Leo. "Just wanted to tuck your tag in," Kun says, fingers moving just enough to complete the action. They're gentle, just as they always are when Kun touches Leo, and they fall away afterward once they’ve completed their task.

But Leo doesn't want gentle right now. He tries not to show his annoyance, not wanting to talk to anyone at all—let alone Kun. Kun knows better, knows *him* better, knows Leo doesn't want him close at the moment. Leo can feel the tag intensely now that it's tucked into his shorts, and it itches against his damp skin. He doesn't say thank you, just looks at Kun and waits.

Kun looks back at him, eyes knowing. The game weighs heavily on him too, of course. But Kun scored a goal. *A goal*. Their only goal. He came through where Leo failed. Kun knows all of that, just as Leo does.

So when Kun opens his mouth, Leo looks away.

"Don't," Leo mutters, pulling up his jersey again to cover his mouth. "Just don't." He can still see Kun out of the corner of his eye, and tries to steel himself for whatever's coming. Because just as he expects, Kun hesitates but doesn't give up completely.

Kun never does. Not with him.

Maybe that's why Leo gives him more leeway than the others.

Kun shifts his weight, pausing to accept a water bottle from one of the trainers as they pass by. After a beat, he grabs a second one and holds it out to Leo. "It is what it is," he says, apparently going with some cliche as opposed to whatever it was he was planning on saying before. He holds the bottle out to Leo and waits. "Drink."

Leo doesn't turn back to him, instead staring off into the distance. He can see the red and blue flags of Iceland still waving in the stands, see the jubilation of the fans who traveled all the way to Russia to cheer on their team. They all look so happy, so genuinely happy, as they jump and sing and do their ridiculous Viking clap. They're in the World Cup for the first time, scoring for the first time, so obviously proud of their team and its players. His heart aches as he watches, wishing so much that the Argentine fans could look like that.

"Leo," Kun insists, water bottle still held out toward him. "Drink," he says again, taking a step toward Leo until he's nearly stepping on Leo's toes. They're both still too hot to be this close, but Kun doesn't care, almost shoving the water bottle into Leo's chest.

Leo takes it this time. He drops his jersey, ignoring the way Kun's eyes had drifted down to his belly, and squirts some water into his mouth. As an afterthought, he squeezes the bottle overtop his head, letting it stream down over his hair and face. The black jerseys make him hotter than the white and blue, and he feels immediately cooler as the water drips down the rest of his body. Some of the water splashes onto Kun, but he doesn't apologize.

Kun doesn't expect him to either.

Kun's hand goes to Leo's back again, dipping down the number 10 and his spine in what can only be described as a caress. Still soft, but not hesitant. "Come on," he says, the warmth of his fingers burning through to Leo's skin. They lightly touch where he'd tucked the tag in before, thumb nudging Leo's waistband. Nothing improper, just comfort. "It's not over. Not yet." He leans closer, just barely pushing his forehead to Leo's. "A tie means a point, Leo. It's not a loss. We're still in this."

Leo's mind goes to Portugal and Spain the day before. "Feels like a loss to me," he whispers, pulling his head away, only afterward remembering that his mouth is uncovered and someone might read his lips. He cringes. He’s hot. Too hot to have Kun's face near his. He raises the water bottle to his mouth again, taking a long drink this time, swallowing gulp after gulp and only stopping so that he doesn't make himself sick. The churning in his stomach reminds him that that's a real possibility.

Kun is quiet for a minute. "It doesn't feel like that to me," he says, waiting until Leo finally looks him in the eye. "It isn't a loss and it doesn't feel like one. That was my first World Cup goal, Leo. And I'm not going to ever forget it." His hand slides to Leo's hip then, fingers spreading and cupping Leo's ribcage in a sort of half hug. "Come with me, eh? Help me make it more memorable," he adds, with a little smile, a hint of passion sliding into his voice.

But Leo's not in the mood.

Even for Kun.

He shrugs off Kun's hand. "Don't," he says again. "I can't just--," he cuts himself off and looks back at the Icelandic fans. "Not tonight, Kun." Kun's hand falls to the side, hurt flashing across his face before his own mask appears. Leo can see it out of the corner of his eye, and it just makes him feel sicker.

"Alright, Leo," Kun says calmly, the whiteness of his knuckles on his water bottle being the only sign of his annoyance. "I just meant--," he stops himself, taking a deep breath. His gaze follows Leo's to the crowd. "It's fine."

Leo feels Kun leave, eyes still firmly fixed on the fans down the other end of the pitch. His misery swells again, but he doesn't follow.

Not for a long time.

*****

Leo loses track of things. A hulking blond Icelandic player is hovering in the tunnel, blue shirt clutched in his hands, solemnly moving toward Leo. Leo faintly recognizes him as the man he'd promised his Argentina jersey at some point, so with an effort, he shrugs off his black shirt to hand over. There's minimal communication between them, but it seems the exchange is enough.

Wisely, the defender doesn't ask for a photo.

Bare to the waist, a new Icelandic jersey now tucked into his waistband, he trudges to the locker-room. He should feel lighter without the crest, without the stars, but he just feels numb. He strips off the rest of his uniform quickly, barely paying attention as he throws his shorts and socks into a collection bin by the wall. There are murmurs and voices around him. Some to him, some over him. But he doesn't really answer anyone, and most eventually leave him alone.

What can they say?

What is there to say?

Sampaoli appears at one point, hand touching Leo's back to get his attention. It's barely a graze, but Leo shies away. His hand feels so different than Kun's, so unexpected and unfamiliar. Whatever Sampaoli says goes in one ear and out the other, Leo's shame rising at the regret he feels from his coach. Sampaoli sees it, clapping Leo on the shoulder afterward, swiftly moving on to talk to the next player.

Leo showers. He gets inspected by the trainers. He's poked and prodded, asked about pain levels and given a few short tests to determine his mobility. They bandage up his scrapes, strap bags of ice to one leg while they start massaging the other. He loses track of things as he goes from specialist to specialist, is given Gatorade and energy bars, gets taped up and is sat down with heating pads.

There's talk about Nigeria and Croatia.

Somehow it wakes him up. He's not sure why. He comes out of his daze to see Masche talking to Gonzalo and Ángel, all three of them already showered and redressed in their white shirts and gray shorts. "Modrić, though," Gonzalo says, apparently disagreeing with something Masche has said. "The way he can link up with Mandzukic."

"Yeah, I know," Masche concedes. "But he can be handled. You know he can. This isn't Madrid, he doesn't have as many options up front. Plus if Rakitić is having an off day, they're vulnerable in midfield. Granted, he can run all day long--his stamina is amazing. But he's clumsy with a lot of his tackles, and he can definitely be sloppy with his passes. Used to drive me crazy. Anyways, if he's not in sync with Modrić, it's doable."

Ángel crosses his arms. "We'll have to see how they do against Nigeria first," he says, nodding. "They'll have some momentum if they win. But even then, I think you're right. I think it can be done."

Leo clears his throat, drawing the attention of the others. "You think we'll win against Croatia?" he asks once he finds his voice. He takes a bite of his energy bar, forcibly chewing the tasteless food. And when the others nod at him, looking concerned, Leo hums. "You think we can still get out of the group?"

Masche gives him a look. "We got a point, Leo. Same as Spain, same as Portugal. There are still a shit ton of games left to play. It's anybody's World Cup." He glances at where Leo's still wrapped up in heating pads. "You told me before the game even started that we would just go out and play, would take it one game at a time. Well, now you've had some time to mourn, so it's time to start thinking about what comes next."

Leo has a lump in his throat and he's not sure if it's because of the way Masche's called him on his shit or because his teammates still believe they can do this.

"Now," Masche continues, "you finish that and then get your ass back to your room because Kun looked like someone kicked his puppy after he talked to you and I'm not dealing with that for the rest of the week. You get me?" He might not be wearing the armband, but he's never looked like more of a captain to Leo.

So Leo nods.

He finishes his energy bar, gulps down the rest of his Gatorade, and when the trainers give him the okay to go, he goes to find Kun.

*****

Leo doesn't have to look hard to find Kun. His teammate is back in their room, just as Masche had said. When Kun merely nods as Leo enters--doesn't smile or even greet Leo--Leo knows he's fucked up.

"Hey," Leo says, sitting down on the edge of the bed where Kun's sprawled out watching television. The mattress is slightly different than his own bed and unexpectedly it sinks down under his weight. Gracelessly, he has to brace himself so he doesn't fall onto the floor. The effort makes his ankle twinge. He's exhausted and aching, but this needs to be done. Needs to be fixed. He doesn't care what Masche said, he needs to apologize to Kun regardless.

Especially since Kun only flicks his eyes at Leo for a few seconds before returning his gaze to the screen. The says it all really. Kun's never ignored Leo in favor of television before. It's some program in English with Russian subtitles, some American comedy that Leo kinda recognizes but can't understand. Kun seems to be engrossed though. "Oh," Leo says then, trying to draw Kun's attention again. "'Friends,' right?"

Kun sighs, rubbing a hand across his eyes. "Yes, Leo, it's 'Friends.'" He scratches his forehead and then runs his fingers through his hair. "Did you want something?" he asks, obviously distracted by the show. "Because I haven't seen this episode before, so you're kinda interrupting."

Leo had half been expecting Kun to smile at him for even knowing the show, but Kun's expression suggests a smile is not anywhere close to forthcoming. So Leo forgets the stupid show and just stares at Kun as he tries to decide how to best repair the damage he's done.

Truthfully he's frustrated. Not with Kun, but with himself. With his failure against Iceland, and the subsequent penalty miss. With his dark mood. With the way he treated Kun earlier out on the pitch. With the way he's turned something that should be celebrated into something that seems unimportant. And how Kun's suffered as a result of his actions.

Well, that changes now.

"Yes," Leo says quietly, wanting to show Kun how sorry he is. "I did want something." He leans in slowly, fingers touching Kun's jawline, smoothing over the short scruff decorating his chin. And when Kun turns to finally look at him, finally giving Leo his full undivided attention, dark eyes glowing in the dim light, Leo lightly kisses him.

Kissing Kun is... It's always gentle and soft, so full of love and comfort. Leo could get lost in Kun's mouth, in his lips, chasing his tongue, eagerly lapping up that familiarity. And Kun responds, of course he does, he surges up into the kiss, hand threading into Leo's hair, the other going to Leo's waist to steady them.

But then.

Kun pushes him away. "No, Leo," he groans, sounding out of breath. His lips are redder than they were, wet, slightly swollen already. "You don't get to do this," he says, frustrated. "You don't get to play hot and cold like this. It's not fair." There's anger in his voice now, anger that's normally not ever directed toward Leo. "You had your chance and didn't take it. You wanted to sulk, so leave me alone and sulk.“

Leo sits on the edge of the bed, stunned. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to--," he says, so incredibly sad. His fingers curl into the sheet beneath him. He can still taste Kun on his tongue, and he wants more. More than that, he wants to see Kun's smile again, hear the cheer in his voice. "You were right," he says, trying to regain his courage. "Your goal," he says, voice breaking slightly as he remembers it, "it was so fucking good."

Kun looks away, sitting up at attention now, no longer relaxed.

"I want to celebrate with you," Leo says honestly. "Your first World Cup goal," he says, shaking his head as he envisions the way Kun had turned and fired, "it was beautiful. *You* were beautiful. And you were right before, we need to celebrate it, need to remember what it stands for."

"And what does it stand for?" Kun asks sarcastically, eyes on the television again. "We didn't win, right," he says, not even making it a question. "We tied. May as well have lost," he continues, slouching back against the headboard and crossing his arms. "So who cares. Fuck off." His jaw gets tight, and it sounds like he’s grinding his teeth.

Maybe Leo should listen to him.

But he's not going to.

"I was wrong, Kun," Leo says simply. "I was wrong. I was in a shitty mood, and I'm so sorry I took it out on you." He touches Kun's knee with the tips of his fingers. "I haven't forgotten what you went through to get here. I know how much pain you were in, how hard you worked every single day to get back to Argentina. To me."

Kun's eyes stay on the television, but he stops grinding his teeth. "I didn't do it for you."

"I know you didn't," Leo says, rubbing slightly. Through Kun's light track pants he can feel the scars from the surgery. He's seen them up close, touched them directly, knows where they are by heart. "You did it for yourself. And for Argentina. And I'm so proud of you for that." His voice wavers, but he powers on. "I'm so proud of your goal, too. I'm sorry I didn't say it before, but I am. It was amazing, wonderful." He takes a deep breath. "You kept us in the game, Kun. In the World Cup. You got us the point. You might be the reason we advance out of the group stage and that's no small thing."

Kun finally looks at him.

"If we get out of the group stage, it'll be because of you, Leo," Kun whispers. And when Leo opens his mouth to protest, Kun touches his lips with his fingertips. They're just as gentle as they were when they tucked in Leo's tag earlier, and it makes Leo shudder. "I might have scored, but I'm not blind to how you played. How you always play. If Argentina moves on, you'll have played a big part in that. You, Leo. Don't argue with me. Not about this."

When Kun takes his fingers back, Leo sighs. "Fine," he says, seeing that Kun isn't going to give up on this. "Agree to disagree," he adds, smiling for the first time that night.

Kun rolls his eyes and Leo knows he's got a victory.

"Tomorrow we focus on Croatia," Leo says, sliding his hand over Kun's knee and up his thigh. "But tonight?" he says, as Kun starts to smile too. "Tonight is for you."

 

 


End file.
